On the Farm
Responding reluctantly to an emergency, a wife rediscovers an old thrill.
A crisis brings out the best in this husband-wife team.
Sitting atop the smaller of our tractors with my husband, Will, on the snowcovered ground below, I feel the full force of my terror. Resentful at having been pulled from my cozy desk out into the snow—farm emergencies have no respect for the tranquility of Sunday mornings, it seems—I’m consumed with anxiety.
My tractor, small and open, is positioned on our steep driveway in front of the larger tractor that’s stuck in a hardened snowbank and pitched at the top of a deep ravine at the driveway’s edge. Will needs me to drive the small tractor uphill while pulling the big tractor with a chain.
We are a team, but I’ve spent less and less time with machinery over the years. Cattle herding is still in my job description, but I’ve successfully avoided driving a tractor for many years.
“Bring it back 6 inches,” Will says, moving out of my tractor’s path. He’s calm, a counter to my clear agitation. We’ve reviewed the location of the gears and verified they are at their lowest setting, allowing the tractor to move slowly when I release the clutch. I lift my foot and the tractor lurches the desired 6 inches. I feel a flicker of pride, or maybe relief.
Will connects the tractors with a chain. Surveying the scene, I realize every element within my range of vision spells danger: the big tractor’s proximity
to the cliff, the distance between us and the bottom of the ravine, the larger machine’s angle on the edge of the bank. I take a breath and try to recall my past success on tractors.
The first time Will coaxed me onto a tractor, he was soaked with sweat and visibly fatigued after two long days of haying single-handedly. I hadn’t been keen to learn to drive a tractor, but Will rarely asked for help and maybe, just maybe, this would be fun. Climbing onto the seat was a job in itself, and the engine noise competed with clear thinking.
“Focus on the front tires,” he had said, watching as my eyes swam over the controls. “I’ll set the speed so all you have to do is let out the clutch and steer.”
The green grass calmed my nerves. The tractor moved smoothly at first but then pitched wildly against invisible ruts. Will stayed on board for a while—holding onto the side so he could indicate where I was drifting off the line of the mown hay— and then he jumped off. Alone now, I focused on the task at hand.
Once I’d accepted the tractor’s lurching, I found it wasn’t hard to keep straight. But my first turn was lousy, leaving yards of hay unraked before I could maneuver to the right distance. The next was better, the third worse, and then my judgment started to improve and I looked forward to each turn. Fear became delight, and with mastery came genuine excitement. The tractor’s rumble trumpeted my strength and skill. The field was mine!
Today, however, the ground is frozen and snowy, and that thrill is a distant memory. Late middle age has brought more sedentary pleasures, and the joy of tractor driving, like that of sledding, is one I’ve been willing to let go.
Will climbs into the bigger tractor, fastens his seat belt and instructs me to go. I release the clutch slowly, hoping for a gentle start. I hear the clank of the chain between us and see the tires start to turn. It seems to be working, and I remind myself I’m in charge. But almost immediately, the wheels begin to spin in place, sending up sprays of snow. I let the tires spin a few seconds, then I put on the brake.
Will climbs down from his tractor and walks up and down the driveway without speaking. The air is chilly, the sun brilliant. He’s taken off his gloves and I wonder if his hands are cold.
He disconnects the small tractor and climbs on, moving the bucket in place to act as a scoop. In my husband’s hands, the tractor spins artfully, turning and climbing, lifting the snow and depositing it off to the sides, creating large swaths of flat ground.
In the clarity of the crisp air, I understand the dance that Will and I have perfected over 30 years of marriage. For this emergency, he has taken on the danger. I am standing on solid ground, feeling the sun until it’s time to get back to work. The big tractor tilts precariously.
Having widened the driveway, Will positions the little tractor in front of the big one and refastens the chain. He nods to me. “Let’s try it again,” he says.
I climb back aboard and rehearse my movements, looking back to see Will smiling. He’s having a grand time and I begin to warm to my role, feeling that old thrill rise in my chest. When he signals for me to move forward, I let up on the clutch pedal and the machine moves straight ahead. I hear the clanking of the chain, and I don’t need to look back to know I’m pulling us both up the hill. I feel triumphant. Will yells, indicating I can stop.
He has given me this gift: a job, and with it the thrill of success. We climb down from our tractors and Will beams. “It’s a good thing we have two tractors, isn’t it?” he says.